


hold me closer

by NatTheSongbird



Series: kiss it better [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (they love him), Fluff, Gen, Jaskier meets the School of the Wolf, M/M, Winter At Kaer Morhen, and now there will be a yen for us to love and appreciate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatTheSongbird/pseuds/NatTheSongbird
Summary: Jaskier, who just discovered he has magic, and Geralt, who just discovered he hates wyverns even more than he thought, are headed to Kaer Morhen for the winter to rest and recover. They'll have months to figure out where Jaskier's magic comes from and what this new, delicate thing between them means.As it turns out, neither of those things are as simple as they sound. Good thing they'll have some help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: kiss it better [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816321
Comments: 36
Kudos: 499





	1. arriving

Kaer Morhen was... not what Jaskier had expected. He was not able to drag details out of Geralt often, particularly not about his upbringing as a witcher, but when he did, they were often unpleasant memories of trials and training. He knew there was fondness there, too, and a love for the witchers who remained, but Kaer Morhen held ghosts that could not be banished by a winter spent playing cards and drinking together.

Jaskier had expected something more... imposing from the witchers’ keep. Something more grand and awe-inspiring, something that looked capable of producing a school of warriors like Geralt. Instead, they walked through a picturesque valley of trees, snow crunching under their feet and sunlight sparkling off the frozen river they were following. A crumbling stone wall, edges worn smooth with age and washed golden in the light, sat high up on the mountain, the gates open in welcome. Perhaps once, long ago, the keep had been as it existed in his mind’s eye. Now, after the sacking of Kaer Morhen and the slow death of the Wolf school, it was simply a home. Walls had sections that had clearly been patched more than once, entire towers and corridors caved in and left to collect dust. A large corner of the keep, a tower, the large training grounds, and a stable: that was all that was left of this place. Everything else had turned to rubble.

The climb to this valley had been treacherous. Geralt had been tense the whole time, splitting his attention between Roach’s footing and Jaskier’s. Weather had been harsh, a wind whipping through their clothes and trying to push them back down the mountains. It had been a steep, cold, miserable climb up a trail that had been designed to be nearly impossible.

Now, glancing beside him and seeing the way Geralt’s shoulders eased as they walked through the gates, Jaskier decided it had been worth it.

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said, keeping a hand lightly at the small of Jaskier’s back. He had been doing that often since their kiss, as if he was making up for lost time now that he knew his touch was welcome.

Jaskier smiled at him, stepping closer and tucking himself against Geralt’s uninjured side, mindful of the wyvern bite that still troubled him. “Is anyone else here yet?”

“Vesemir,” Geralt replied. “Perhaps Eskel. Lambert won’t be here for another week or two, he always arrives late. Let me get Roach settled and then I’ll show you around.”

Geralt led them to the stables, where a stall full of fresh water and hay was waiting for Roach. Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him.

“Witcher magic?”

Geralt snorted and shook his head. “Vesemir knew we were coming. Saw us in the valley.”

“Kind of him,” Jaskier remarked lightly, wandering around the stable. There were several other horses here, eating quietly or laying in the thick hay piles. Half the stalls stood empty. “Do these horses stay here all the time?”

“Vesemir is usually here, so yes,” Geralt said, not looking up from Roach’s tack. “If he leaves, he turns them out into the field in the valley, they can fend for themselves there unless we get wyverns or something.”

“Wyverns do seem to be the root of a lot of your problems, my dear,” Jaskier teased, petting the nose of a tall gray mare who was whickering softly at him.

“Fucking tell me about it.”

Jaskier laughed, already delighting in how easy it was to draw Geralt into conversation in the comfort of his home. The thought of an entire winter stretching out ahead of them with time to talk and laze in bed and simply enjoy each other’s company made him dizzy with anticipation.

Geralt stepped out of Roach’s stall, patting her nose and talking quietly to her.

“Be good,” Jaskier heard him say. “Rest. It’s been a long year.”

Jaskier held out his hand as Geralt approached, pleased when the Witcher took it in his own without comment.

“C’mon,” Geralt said. “I’ll show you my room, you can put your things down and we can rest a while before we meet the others for supper. I’ll give you a proper tour tomorrow.”

“Lead on.”

Geralt led him through the halls of Kaer Morhen, occasionally speaking up to offer some small piece of information about the keep. Jaskier hung onto his every word, trying to memorize them all and fingers itching for his notebook. There was enough history in these walls to write a lifetime of songs. 

Just as they arrived at the base of the large tower, walking towards a staircase that spiraled up the sides, Geralt stopped and went tense. Jaskier, still holding Geralt’s hand, was also yanked to a stop.

“Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head slightly, relaxing. “Thought I heard someone coming down the hall,” he said. “Probably just Eskel. Sorry. Habit.”

Jaskier stepped closer, placing his free hand on Geralt’s cheek. Geralt turned his head into Jaskier’s hand, making Jaskier’s breath catch. He didn’t think he would ever get used to this, to visible displays that Geralt loved him, trusted him, chose him. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly. “I know you just want to keep us safe, my love, but you’re home now. You don’t need to jump at every creak of the floorboards or the sound of someone’s voice. No one here means you or me any harm. We can just relax for a while.”

Geralt kissed his palm. “I know.”

“Good,” said Jaskier, closing the remaining space between them and pulling Geralt into a kiss. Geralt sighed, wrapping his arms around Jaskier's waist, holding him close and kissing back sweetly.

This was heaven, he was sure. Jaskier never wanted to move again, wanted to stay right here in the warmth of Geralt's embrace with white hair tangled in his hand, greedily chasing the soft noise of surprise Geralt made when Jaskier pulled him impossibly closer and grazed his teeth over his bottom lip, one of Geralt's hands slipping beneath his shirt and settling on his back, sending shivers up his spine—

Behind them, someone whistled. Jaskier jumped, nearly headbutting Geralt in the nose. Geralt dodged neatly and turned around. 

“Fuck off, Eskel.”

Another witcher stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He was smiling. “Good to see you too, Wolf. Who’s your friend?”

Geralt opened his mouth to speak, but Jaskier stepped forward before he could. 

“Jaskier, at your service,” he said brightly, extending one hand towards the other witcher. “Eskel, was it?”

The other witcher—Eskel—clasped Jaskier’s arm the way Jaskier had often seen soldiers or knights greet each other. Privately, he was a little flattered that Eskel did not immediately treat him like he was fragile; his grip had been firm and sure, as if greeting a brother-in-arms. Soldiers and the like often saw no further than his colorful clothes or the lute on his back and assumed him to be delicate. 

It didn’t help that he was often standing next to Geralt. _Everyone_ looked delicate next to Geralt.

Well. Everyone, perhaps, except Eskel. He was equally tall and broad, though his expression was much softer. He had Geralt’s cat-like eyes and a large scar from his right temple slashing down to his chin. It should have made him look intimidating, but the effect was lost when paired with the brown hair falling into his eyes and the smile on his face. Jaskier, trying not to completely stick his foot in his mouth, was careful not to stare at the scar. He wondered if there was a polite way to get that story.

“Good to meet you, Jaskier,” said Eskel. “Geralt didn’t tell us you were coming.”

“Yes, well, it was sort of a last-minute decision,” Jaskier replied. “Didn’t come up until a couple of weeks ago.”

Eskel snorted a laugh. “You finally get your head out of your ass, Wolf?”

“Mind your damn business,” Geralt said. His voice was gruff, but there was no mistaking the affection in his tone. He reached out and pulled Eskel into a tight embrace that made Jaskier’s ribs hurt just to look at. Absently, Jaskier reflected that they probably would’ve crushed anyone who wasn’t a witcher between them with their ridiculous strength.

It was not an unpleasant thought. He shook his head and brought himself firmly back to the present. 

Eskel thumped Geralt on the back, the smile vanishing from his face suddenly when Geralt winced. “You’re hurt. What happened to you?”

“Fucking wyverns,” Geralt said, stepping back. “Took a piece out of my side a few weeks back. The muscle’s still regrowing. It’s not going to kill me.”

“It’s just gonna hurt like a bitch,” Eskel said, rolling his eyes. “Every time you come here, it’s something. I’m impressed you still have all your limbs.”

Geralt shrugged. “That’s the job.”

“Or you’re a magnet for trouble.”

“I have several songs that would agree with Eskel here,” Jaskier said, grinning when Geralt nudged his ribs with an elbow.

“Whose side are you on?” he muttered.

Eskel laughed, bright and warm. “I’ll leave you to get settled,” he said. “Come down later and eat with us. Geralt, Vesemir will want a look at that wound afterward, but I can show our guest around a bit.”

Geralt nodded. “He’ll be staying in my room,” he said with a casual certainty that made Jaskier’s heart flutter. “Just make sure he can get to the yard and the kitchen without getting lost.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Jaskier said. Geralt ignored him.

Eskel nodded. “I’ll see you later,” he said. “Holler if you need something. It was nice to meet you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier inclined his head. “The pleasure was all mine.” 

Eskel clasped Geralt’s arm. “Good to see you in one piece, Geralt,” he said quietly. “Welcome home.”

“You too,” Geralt said. “I’ll see you later.”

With one last wave, Eskel walked down the hallway, leaving them alone at the base of the staircase. Geralt kissed the side of Jaskier’s head and wordlessly took his pack from his arms, walking up the stairs. 

“Watch your step,” he said. “There’s no railing.”

“Luckily for me, I’ve got a big strong witcher to catch me,” Jaskier teased, starting up after him. They climbed the spiraling staircase in silence, listening to the wind howl outside. At the top of the stairs, there was a thick wooden door. Geralt opened it and gestured for Jaskier to step inside. 

The room was simple but comfortable and warm. The bed was large and sturdy, lined with blankets and furs to keep away the bite of the cold air. A fire crackled in the fireplace in anticipation of their arrival, extra firewood stacked beside it. There was an old trunk at the foot of the bed and a table with a single chair tucked into a corner. Two swords hung on the wall above the fireplace, similar to the ones Jaskier was used to seeing Geralt carry. A small shelf stood in the corner opposite the table and chair, full to bursting with books and scrolls and the odd trinket or two. Beside it, empty pegs dotted the wall. 

Jaskier was privately relieved to find a cozy room that was clearly lived in instead of a completely spartan room with only a bedroll on the ground. It eased something in his heart to know that when Geralt came here in winter to recuperate or to wait out the worst of the weather, he had a place that belonged to him where he could be comfortable. It didn’t make up for the rest of the year, but it helped. 

“It’s lovely,” Jaskier said, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and sighing heavily. “Gods, you sleep in a comfortable bed this large every winter and still go back to sleeping on the road? I never want to get up again.”

Geralt smiled, setting their packs on the table and propping his swords beside the bed. Within easy reach if necessary. Apparently, some things didn’t change even in his home. 

“You can spend the entire winter in this bed if you’d like,” Geralt said, beginning to unbuckle his armor and hang it neatly on the hooks on the wall. “I can think of worse ways to pass the time.”

Jaskier toed off his boots and leaned back on the bed, content to watch Geralt take off his armor and bask in the warmth of the fireplace. “I don’t know,” he said, “It’s awfully big. I’d get terribly lonely all by myself. Perhaps with some company…”

Geralt rolled his eyes, pulling the tie from his hair and shaking it loose. It fell around his face in white waves. Jaskier wanted to run his fingers through it. An excited shiver ran down his spine when he remembered he didn’t just have to _want_ , he could _have_ these things now. Geralt would give them gladly the moment he asked. 

“You’re incorrigible,” Geralt said softly, unlacing his boots and leaving them by the door. He moved Jaskier’s boots to sit beside his own and then returned to the bed, sitting down on the edge in pants and a soft black shirt, his hair loose and his expression unguarded. 

He was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“Come here,” Jaskier said, opening his arms, and Geralt did, lying beside Jaskier as if wrapping up in his arms was the most natural thing in the world. 

Maybe it was. Maybe this was where they were meant to fit. It certainly felt like it, with Geralt’s face tucked into his neck, his lips brushing soft kisses under Jaskier’s jaw, his heart beating slow and steady against Jaskier’s own chest. Jaskier ran his fingers gently through Geralt’s hair, sighing happily.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Jaskier whispered. 

“Mmm. Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s all right, love. We’re here now, that’s all that matters.” His fingertips brushed down Geralt’s side, tracing lightly over the bandages on his side where the wyvern bite was. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Geralt said. “Tired, but fine.”

Geralt had hardly slept on the three-day journey up the mountain, so preoccupied with making sure Jaskier didn’t freeze or plummet off a cliff. The concern was touching, but it had left Geralt with shadows under his eyes. 

“Let’s rest a while,” Jaskier said, freeing one hand to drag a thick blanket over them and burrowing deeper into the mattress and into Geralt. “Then we can break the bed in properly.”

Geralt laughed softly, lifting his face to kiss Jaskier. “Get some rest,” he said. “Everything else can wait. We have all winter.”

Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever heard sweeter words. 


	2. introducing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every single day of this hell year somehow gets worse and worse but on the bright side we'll always have these two idiots
> 
> genuinely sorry for the delay, i am but an ant and the universe is a kid with a magnifying glass on a hot day 
> 
> enjoy

Jaskier was woken from a very pleasant nap by lips trailing soft kisses down the line of his throat. He sighed, tilting his head to the side. One hand came up to rest in Geralt’s hair, his eyes fluttering open.

“Mmm, that’s a much nicer wake-up call than pouring water on me,” Jaskier said, smiling when Geralt huffed a laugh against his neck. 

“I only did that once,” he replied, his teeth just barely grazing over Jaskier’s neck and sending a shiver down his spine. “And that was before I could do this.”

“My darling witcher, you could have done this the moment I met you and it would have been fine with me,” said Jaskier. Even to his own ears, he sounded breathless. To his lover’s enhanced hearing, the hitch in his breathing and the pounding of his heart must make him sound like an absolute wreck. 

Geralt hummed against his skin, taking his time trailing wet, warm kisses up from his shoulder to his lips. “Come on,” he said. “Dinner. Let’s introduce you to the others.” 

“Let me freshen up,” Jaskier said, trying to summon the will to get out of bed. “Can’t make a good first impression on your family if I look like I’ve just rolled out of your bed.”

Geralt rolled his eyes but said nothing as Jaskier went over to his bag and dug through it. 

“I don’t suppose you have a mirror, darling?” Jaskier asked, unfolding a clean doublet from his bag and looking at it critically. It was a bit wrinkled around the hem, but it would have to do.

Geralt huffed a quiet laugh. “No mirror,” he said. “Not used to having a fussy guest.”

“Oi, shut up,” said Jaskier, half-heartedly throwing a rolled up pair of socks at him. “Just because  _ you _ go out into the world with selkiemore guts on your face and unbrushed hair doesn’t mean we all have low standards.

Geralt caught the socks in one hand and threw them back at Jaskier, narrowly missing his head. “That little hand mirror you stole from one of your lady friends should still be in my potion bag, in the side pocket there. You look fine, Jas, stop fussing. You think a group of witchers is gonna care what your hair looks like?”

“ _ I  _ care,” Jaskier insisted, rummaging through Geralt’s bag. Sure enough, Geralt had kept the small mirror tucked into the side pocket of one of his saddlebags. “I’ve never met them before. I want them to like me.”

“They’ll like you fine,” Geralt said, rising from the bed and coming to stand behind Jaskier. Warm hands settled onto his shoulders, squeezing gently. “And if they don’t, fuck ‘em. Nothing anyone else says is going to change my opinion of you.”

Jaskier leaned back against Geralt’s broad chest, sighing. “You mean it?”

Geralt laughed quietly, pressing a kiss beneath Jaskier’s ear and making him shiver. “What kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn’t?” he said. “If  _ your _ family found you in bed with a witcher, they’d have a collective stroke.”

“Let them,” Jaskier said, turning around to kiss Geralt’s forehead. “I’m happy where I am.”

Geralt’s gaze softened, a tiny smile lingering at the corner of his mouth. “So am I,” he said. “Now come on. Let’s go down for dinner. I promise they’ll behave.”

Nerves fluttered in Jaskier’s stomach again. He quickly changed into his clean outfit and ran his hands through his hair, trying to get it to settle into something that looked less like bedhead.

“Alright, I’m ready,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Geralt looked like he was trying not to laugh. “You’re going to dinner, Jas, not your execution.  _ Relax _ .”

“Easy for  _ you _ to say,” he grumbled, allowing himself to be led out of the room. “ _ You’re _ not the one about to be judged by a council of wolves.”

Geralt laughed, squeezing Jaskier’s hand. “Just be yourself. Worked on a witcher before.”

“I do not have a literal decade to annoy them into loving me, Geralt!”

“It didn’t take a decade,” he said. “Didn’t take long at all, really.”

“Stop being cute,” Jaskier demanded. “It’s making it very hard to wallow in my nerves.”

“That’s the idea.”

They walked through the rest of the keep in relative silence. Eventually, they arrived at a large set of wooden doors. Geralt squeezed his hand again, silently encouraging, before pushing the doors open.

The inside of the hall was sparse and had clearly seen better days. The walls were covered in patches where they had clearly had to make repairs with whatever materials had been lying around. It was large and spacious with high ceilings. Jaskier made a mental note to check the acoustics later, preferably without an audience of witchers. 

Despite all the space, there was very little in the room. A large fire crackled in the fireplace at the opposite end. Two shabby-looking cupboards stood to the right of the hearth and a large, low table in front of it with benches along either side. There was a small doorway (without a door, it seemed) that seemed to lead back into a kitchen. Jaskier could just make out herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry and a large wood stove in the corner. The rest of the room was obscured by a wall from this angle. 

At his side, Geralt gently squeezed his hand again before laying a hand on Jaskier’s back and nudging him into the room. His footsteps echoed on the floor, and the three men at the table all looked over.

One of them was Eskel, the witcher from earlier. He smiled and lifted his cup in greeting as he made eye contact with Jaskier before turning his attention back to his food. Beside him sat another witcher with a sharper, more angular face. His dark hair was cropped short, the dark shadow of stubble visible on his cheeks and chin. Of the three of them, this witcher looked the most… well, ordinary. Geralt’s white hair was something of an oddity and Eskel’s scars drew your attention to his cat-like eyes, but this man easily could’ve been any of the lords or nobles Jaskier had met in his travels. Only a closer look revealed a thin, pale scar along his right temple. Though not as large as Eskel’s or as visible as the scar over Geralt’s eye, it seemed none of them had managed to escape their Path with their faces entirely unscathed. 

“Well, look who showed up,” the witcher drawled, expression unreadable. “And with a guest, no less. No crazed sorceress this year, Wolf?”

Geralt snorted. “Like any of them would willingly come near  _ you _ . Didn’t think you’d be here already, Lambert. Thought you were further south.”

Lambert shrugged. “Contracts dried up,” he said. “Some snot-nosed little princeling got a wild idea that most of the monsters should be considered a “protected species” and preserved instead of hunted, and people are reluctant to pay you to tell the prince to go fuck himself.”

Eskel laughed. “Something tells me you didn’t need the incentive to tell the little brat off.”

Lambert grinned, wide and dangerous. “I told him I’d be back in spring if he could survive that long.”

The third witcher at the table, who had been sitting across from Lambert and silently looking at Jaskier until now, turned back to Lambert and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be provoking new royals,” he said. “They hardly need  _ more _ incentive to deny us passage or make the Path more difficult.”

“They’re going to hate me no matter what I do,” said Lambert, waving a hand dismissively. “ _ I _ might as well get to enjoy myself now and then.”

The third witcher—Vesemir, Jaskier was fairly certain—rolled his eyes but said nothing. He looked much older than the others, his hair gray and his face lined. If not for the golden eyes and the scars along his hands and arms, he could’ve been someone’s kindly grandfather. For some reason, Jaskier was briefly reminded of the soothsayer from the village. She had had a similar air about her, a sense that she knew too much to be bothered with the mundane turnings of the world. 

“Geralt,” Vesemir said, looking back at the pair of them as they approached the table. “Who is this?”

Geralt sat on the low bench beside Vesemir, tugging Jaskier down to sit on his other side. With a breath of relief, Jaskier realized that he was sitting across from Eskel, who was giving him an encouraging sort of look.

“This is Jaskier,” Geralt said, laying a warm hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “If you’ve been hearing songs about witchers, they’re his. He’s staying with me.” 

Vesemir nodded to himself. “Hmm. There’s two bowls on the cupboard there.”

Jaskier smiled, drawing on every ounce of his court manners to not simply duck under the table and hide. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” he said. “And I’m very grateful to you for letting me stay. If you’d ever like a spot of entertainment with dinner, you need only ask.”

Lambert looked at him, squinting. Jaskier forced himself not to fidget.

“Are you the one who wrote that ridiculous song about Geralt?”

Geralt snorted a laugh, rising from the bench and crossing to the cupboard. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he said. “There’s more than one.”

Jaskier turned to glare at him. “It’s like you  _ want _ to sleep on the floor.” 

Eskel laughed, pouring Jaskier a drink from the large jug sitting on the table. “Oh, I like this one,” he said, pushing the drink across the table to him. “He’s feisty.”

Jaskier tried not to preen, glowing in the easy praise from one of Geralt’s brothers. The knot of panic in his stomach eased somewhat as Geralt sat back down beside him, setting a bowl in front of him and gently brushing their shoulders together.

Gods, but he loved this man.

Lambert was still glaring. “Some idiot at a tavern in Posada threw a coin at my head soon as I walked in the door,” he said. “Took me twenty minutes to convince them I wasn’t the White Wolf. The whole  _ Toss A Coin _ shtick was you?”

“The one and only,” Jaskier replied, flashing his best charming grin. “Better a coin than a rock, no?”

For a tense, long moment there was silence. Lambert stared at Jaskier as though he couldn’t quite believe that had just come out of his mouth. 

(Frankly, that look would have been  _ very _ intimidating had Jaskier not been traveling with Geralt so long. A ‘ _ what the fuck, bard’ _ face had become the default expression Jaskier was used to seeing on his witcher, and Lambert’s wasn’t quite as intense. However, that did  _ not _ make things less awkward.)

Just as Jaskier was starting to dearly regret his attempt at a joke, Lambert snorted a laugh and leaned over the table to clasp Jaskier’s arm much like Eskel had.

“I like this one,” he said. There was something wild in the way he smiled, sharp and dangerous. “Welcome to Kaer Morhen, bard.” 

Jaskier smiled back, feeling the last tendrils of his anxiety unwind. Under the table, Geralt placed a hand on his knee, squeezing gently. Between the warmth of his lover’s hand, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the satisfaction glowing in his chest, Jaskier felt like the summer sun had started shining in the middle of winter. 

The rest of the night passed pleasantly. To Jaskier’s great delight, the other witchers had no shortage of stories, both Geralt’s and their own, that they were willing to share. Even Vesemir chimed in now and then with anecdotes from the younger witchers’ training that made the other three wolves groan and protest in playful embarrassment. Geralt was relaxed, one arm draped over Jaskier’s shoulders and holding him close against his side. The lines of his face were easy and comfortable, his guard down in a way it never was on the Path. The evening slipped by in raucous conversation and no shortage of drink. It was certainly one of the liveliest family dinners Jaskier had ever attended. Trading barbs with Lambert and quips with Eskel was leaps and bounds more interesting than being lectured about what fork to use. 

Pleasantly tipsy, Jaskier leaned into Geralt's side, resting his head on his shoulder and humming happily when he felt a faint kiss pressed into his hair.

Lambert nudged Eskel’s ribs, gesturing to Geralt and rolling his eyes. “Look at that,” he said. “The White Wolf’s gone soft.”

“And yet, I’ll still kick your ass,” Geralt said, no heat behind his words.

“Ah, let him be,” Eskel said. “The bard’s good people. Better than a sorceress.”

“Or a succubus,” Geralt said slyly. Jaskier could feel the laugh he was repressing, a gentle buzz where their sides were pressed together.

Eskel threw up his hands in exasperation. “Are you  _ ever _ going to let that go?”

Oh, there was  _ definitely  _ a story there. Jaskier was absolutely going to get it out of Eskel. He snuggled a little closer to Geralt and let out a happy sigh, closing his eyes for a moment and basking in the warmth of the room and the sound of Geralt’s family talking. The food and ale all seemed to settle on him at once in a blanket of comfortable, sated drowsiness. He’d just close his eyes for a minute, he thought. Just for a short minute… 

Geralt nudged him gently. “Hey,” he said quietly. “You ready for bed?”

“M’not tired,” said Jaskier. The yawn that overtook him made it slightly unconvincing. Oh, well.

“Hmm,” Geralt said. He sounded amused. “Sure. Up you get, Jas.”

Jaskier forced himself to sit up. “Goodnight, everyone,” he said, standing from the table and bowing with a flourish. “It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Good to meet you, Jaskier,” Eskel said. “See you tomorrow.”

Geralt stood from the table as well, allowing Jaskier to take his hand and draw him toward the door. 

“Wolf,” said Vesemir quietly from behind them, “A word.”

Geralt turned and exchanged a long, wordless look with Vesemir. He nodded slightly, gesturing to the thick wooden doors of the hall and guiding Jaskier out. Vesemir followed.

The door closed behind them. Vesemir’s eyes flicked to Jaskier, then to Geralt, who nodded in response to his unspoken question. 

“Eskel tells me you’re hurt,” he said. 

“Wyverns,” Geralt replied. “Bad bite on one side. Muscle’s still regrowing.”

Vesemir raised an eyebrow. “Sounds serious. How long ago?”

Geralt shrugged. “Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” he asked. “Have you been traveling all that time?”

“Most of it,” Geralt said. “I was laid up for a day.”

Vesemir looked at Geralt in disbelief. “That’s… quite a turn-around, Wolf, even for you.”

“There were…” Geralt trailed off, looking at Jaskier fondly. “Extenuating circumstances. Jaskier has some newly-discovered healing abilities.”

Vesemir shifted his gaze to Jaskier. “Newly-discovered?”

“Apparently, Geralt noticed before I did,” Jaskier said. “I only found out after the wyverns. Oh, and the ghoul. Alghoul? Something big and ugly.”

“You’re a mage?”

Geralt snorted a laugh. “No,” he said. “This is the only magic he’s ever displayed. We don’t know why.”

“Hmm. I’ll do some research,” Vesemir said thoughtfully, “And you should contact your sorceress. Magic, even good magic, without control is dangerous.”

Geralt nodded. “We’ll look into it,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

Vesemir nodded once. “Good,” he said. “I won’t keep you any longer. Good night.”

They said their goodbyes to Vesemir and continued up the stairs. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, “Why _do_ I have magic? Where did it come from? No one in my family is like this.”

Geralt was quiet, seeming lost in thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said finally, pushing open the door to his room. “Not my specialty. We’ll figure it out, but don’t worry about it tonight. Let’s just get some rest.”

Jaskier sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out for Geralt and grabbing his hands when he came close. “It’s awfully cold in here,” he lied. “Come keep me warm.”

Geralt smiled. Jaskier couldn’t help leaning up to catch that smile in a kiss, still giddy with the knowledge that he could just  _ do _ that now. He laid back, pulling Geralt over him like a blanket. 

“I’m going to crush you,” Geralt warned, kissing along Jaskier’s jaw.

“What a way to go,” Jaskier laughed, running his fingers through soft white hair. “I’ll be okay. You’re not as heavy as you look.”

Geralt hummed noncommittally, settling over Jaskier and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “If you say so. G’night, Jas.”

“Goodnight, my heart,” Jaskier said softly. “Sleep well.”

The room fell into silence broken only by their quiet breaths. Jaskier felt like his heart might float right out of his chest, so light and happy that it would soar straight up to the stars. He was home with Geralt, who was happy and relaxed and loved him. The other witchers were lovely, and he had an entire winter to spend with Geralt trying to figure out the source of his magic kisses. 

All in all, he thought his first day in Kaer Morhen had gone well.


	3. reading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhh hi  
> sorry for the delay, I am currently a lifeless husk of a human being  
> have this

The next few days in Kaer Morhen were a quiet affair. They ate most of their meals together with the other witchers, spending hours in front of the fire at night swapping stories and songs. They were a surprisingly appreciative audience, Eskel most of all. Apparently, he had something of an interest in poetry. Jaskier had nearly burst with excitement, and the two of them had begun a habit of spending part of the afternoon in Kaer Morhen’s library. Geralt joined them, though he sat some ways away absorbed in heavy, dusty old tomes about magic.

Jaskier had caught him watching them with a fond smile on his face, though Geralt would, of course, deny it if asked. His wolf really was a soft heart under all that leather and monosyllabic grunting. 

Currently, Jaskier was sitting in an old chair by the fireplace, strumming his lute absentmindedly as Eskel read from a poetry book that was twice as old as Jaskier, his deep voice pleasant and clear over the quiet chords. Geralt was sitting at Jaskier’s feet and mending a shirt, his white hair brushing against Jaskier’s knees. He nudged Geralt’s side gently, smiling when Geralt wordlessly turned his head and pressed a kiss to his knee, hands still steadily focused on his row of neat, precise stitches. 

Eskel’s sigh was fond, if a litte exasperated. “Should I start looking for love poems for the two of you?”

“No need,” Jaskier replied easily. “I’ve written enough love poems about Geralt for several lifetimes, I think.”

“Insufferable,” Eskel said, turning his attention back to the book and turning a page carefully. “Just when I thought winters with Geralt couldn’t get worse.”

“Fuck off, Eskel,” Geralt said, in the same tone of voice a normal person might use to remark upon the weather. 

Jaskier set his lute aside in favor of running his fingers through Geralt’s hair. This was one of his favorite discoveries from his time in Kaer Morhen so far; fingers running through his hair and gently scratching over his scalp was enough to make the famous White Wolf purr like a tame housecat. Sure enough, Geralt hummed happily and leaned a little more against Jaskier’s legs. Jaskier was willing to bet that his eyes were closed. 

“Shall I read another?” Eskel asked. 

“Please do,” Jaskier said, settling a little more comfortably into his chair.

“Any preferences?”

“Read me something you love,” Jaskier said. “One of your favorites.”

Eskel tilted his head for a moment before nodding to himself, paging through the book. As he searched, Jaskier leaned down and kissed Geralt’s cheek, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind his ear. 

“Alright down there, love?” he asked, teasing. “Usually you can’t stomach this much poetry at once.”

“Oh, is that what you call your writing these days?” Geralt said, smiling crookedly at him and dodging the swat Jaskier aimed at his head.

“Oi! Stop being rude or I’ll take up wandering with one of your brothers,” Jaskier threatened, slightly mollified by Geralt’s grin. 

“They’d return you to me in a month,” he said. “Two, tops.”

“Don’t they teach you lot  _ manners _ here?”

Eskel grinned. “They do,” he said. “Geralt and Lambert always conveniently missed those classes.”

“ _ That _ certainly explains a lot, doesn’t it,” Jaskier grumbled to himself, pretending not to be appeased by the broad, warm hand wrapping around his ankle. “Eskel, dear, please tell me you’ve found a good, civilized poem that can teach some manners to our grumbly witcher here?”

“Tall order, bard,” Eskel said, laughing when Geralt gestured rudely at him. “But I’ve got one in mind.”

Jaskier settled back into his chair, one hand settling back in Geralt’s hair as he gestured for Eskel to continue. He cleared his throat and began to read in his warm, steady voice.

_ “Across the mountains and by the sea _

_ In the briny sea-salt air _

_ Lived a little old town, a little old road, _

_ And a lovely maiden fair. _

_ This girl, they say, could charm the stars _

_ Or tempt the sea from its bed. _

_ The world bloomed beneath her feet, _

_ The breeze followed where she led. _

_ The boys in town all crossed her path, _

_ As bold as bold could be, _

_ Yet all their wooing was for naught; _

_ Her eyes ne’er left the sea. _

_ For from the sea, the sun-bright sea,  _

_ A beautiful ship had sailed in _

_ And off stepped a man, a dashing young man,  _

_ Who met her sweet stare with a grin.  _

_ Her sailor was a handsome lad _

_ And smitten fast was she. _

_ They married in the sun that summer _

_ Beside the sun-bright sea. _

_ Her laughter brought forth a summer breeze, _

_ Her tears called down the rain, _

_ Her love banished her dear sailor’s woes, _

_ Erasing his every pain. _

_ Her happiness made the flowers bloom _

_ In brilliant swaths of color. _

_ Her touch, they say, was magic-made _

_ And unlike any other. _

_ But alas! True love, it does not last, _

_ And along came tragedy. _

_ A storm swept up her dear sailor’s ship, _

_ Swallowed by the sea. _

_ No summer breezes now did blow, _

_ No cheerful drizzle of rain. _

_ The sky grew dark with heavy clouds _

_ In answer to her pain. _

_ A hundred years have come and gone, _

_ Yet a maiden fair remains she _

_ Watching and waiting for her beloved’s ship _

_ Beside the sun-bright sea.” _

A moment of quiet settled over the room, broken only by the quiet rustle of pages as Eskel carefully closed the book. 

“It’s a translation,” Eskel said after a moment, “So it’s made a few of the rhymes a little odd in places, but I’ve always liked that one.”

“It’s lovely,” Jaskier replied. Something about it tugged at his musician’s ear; he picked up his lute again and strummed a few simple chords, humming under his breath and trying to match it to the steady rhythm of Eskel’s voice. “Thank you for sharing it. I’d never heard it before.”

Geralt hummed quietly. “It’s old,” he said. “Hell, it was old when Eskel and I were kids.”

“So it’s a proper ancient relic now, hmm?” Jaskier teased, running a hand through Geralt’s hair. “Also, how the fuck did you know that?”

Geralt closed his eyes and leaned back against Jaskier’s legs, his mending forgotten in his lap. “I remember it,” he said. “I’d forgotten. It’s always been Eskel’s favorite.”

“Our wolf has a soft heart under all that grouching,” Eskel said, rising from his chair. “Who knows? Maybe next we’ll get him to admit he even likes Lambert.”

“Not to his face you won’t,” Geralt replied, humor coloring his tone. “His ego gets any bigger, he won’t fit through the doorway.”

Eskel snorted a laugh. “Fair enough. I need to see to the goats,” he said, clapping Jaskier on the shoulder on his way out of the room. “I’ll see the two of you at dinner.” 

Jaskier nudged Geralt with his knee, careful not to jostle his injured side. “Find anything interesting in those dusty old magic books of yours, my sweet?”

Geralt’s eyes were still closed and he made no move to rise, comfortably settled on the floor with one leg stretched out in front of him and his back leaning against Jaskier’s legs, his head on Jaskier’s knee. “Not much,” he said. 

Jaskier nudged him again, firmer this time. “Scoot, you big oaf, let me up. That was a lovely poem Eskel read, wasn’t it?”

Geralt moved to let him up, hauling himself to his feet with a grunt. “He’s always had a soft spot for poetry,” he said. “Figured the two of you would get on. It gave me an idea, actually. You going somewhere?”

“I was rather hoping I could entice you into coming back to our room,” Jaskier said, stepping close and hooking his fingers into Geralt’s belt. He tugged him closer, and Geralt went easily. Jaskier couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his cheek, reveling in the tiny smile it earned him. “We’ve a few hours to kill before dinner, and I really should take another look at those bandages.”

“You’ve got your hands in my belt and your heart is racing, Jaskier, I don’t think it’s my bandages you’re interested in,” Geralt said, raising one eyebrow as he wrapped his own arms around Jaskier, closing him in a strong, warm embrace. “Try again.”

A shiver ran down Jaskier’s spine. He didn’t think he’d ever be used to this: Geralt, his smile easy and open, teasing him without glancing over his shoulder for an imaginary threat. Winter had put a smile on his face and meat on his bones and frankly, Jaskier was going to  _ miss _ this in the spring when they had to leave, would miss seeing Geralt happy and healthy and comfortable instead of underfed and overworked. 

(Also, consistent access to a soft bed was  _ wonderful _ . He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept quite so contentedly.)

“Fine,” he said, sliding his hands up to rest on Geralt’s chest, over his slow-beating heart. “You caught me. I’m far more interested in getting you out of your clothes and back into bed and seeing what it takes to make the famed White Wolf  _ howl _ .”

Geralt grinned and ducked his head, pressing a soft kiss under Jaskier’s jaw. The scratch of his stubble made Jaskier squirm, unable to decide if he wanted to ask him to shave or feel that delicious tingling  _ everywhere _ . 

“You,” Geralt said, “Are insatiable. I didn’t tire you out enough last night, little songbird?”

“Tired? Of  _ you? _ Never, my love,” he said. “I suppose you’ll just have to keep trying.”

Geralt huffed a laugh, pulling back and kissing Jaskier’s forehead. “Stop distracting me,” he said. “I was trying to tell you something before you tried to get in my pants.”

Jaskier sighed. “Is it more important than going back to our rooms before dinner and  _ letting _ me get in your pants?”

“Unfortunately so,” Geralt said. “It’s about your magic. I have an idea.” 

Jaskier carefully pushed aside all thoughts of sex for the moment. There would be plenty of time for that later. Geralt had been looking for some clues about his magic since they’d arrived and found nothing; if he was pitching an idea to Jaskier, it must mean he had a pretty good idea about it, and Jaskier was  _ extremely _ curious to know why he, of all people, had magic. 

They had already exhausted several theories. The first and most obvious theory was that Jaskier was not entirely human. Vesemir had asked if he had any fae or elven blood in his family anywhere that he knew of. Geralt had added that it could be incubus blood as well, but he was  _ clearly _ trying not to smile when he said that, so Jaskier was pretty sure that had been a joke. Besides, they’d done some rather thorough research in that department and Geralt had yet to remark that it felt like Jaskier was  _ actively draining the life force out of him _ , so it was unlikely anyway.

Unfortunately, as he had told them, his entire family was human as far as he knew. He had an aunt who had rather scandalously eloped with the blacksmith’s wife and a cousin who fancied himself a bit of an amateur monster hunter, but everyone else in his family was perfectly ordinary. A bit boring, actually, if he were being honest, so it couldn’t be any of them. 

The next working theory had been that Jaskier had somehow been cursed. Geralt had quickly dismissed this one as unlikely, but the others had seemed reluctant to agree. A curse would make the most sense; it would explain the sudden onset of his magic, why Jaskier hadn’t noticed his own abilities, and why no other bed partner of his had ever praised his literal healing kisses. Geralt, however, maintained that curses and other spells would have powerful enough magic to make his medallion vibrate, and he would notice if something about Jaskier suddenly changed. 

_ (“I beg to differ, dear Witcher, it took you two weeks to notice I’d cut my hair.” _

_ “Shut up, Jaskier.”) _

Since then, Geralt had pored over his old journals, searching through notes from past contracts and trying to find anything that could explain it. He had come up empty and turned to Kaer Morhen’s library. Thus far, he had been similarly unsuccessful. This was the first idea he’d brought to Jaskier in days. 

“Do tell, darling,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt hummed thoughtfully and looked at him, tilting his head slightly. “I... want to try something,” he said after a moment. “It won’t explain where it came from, but it will help us understand what you can do.”

“Why the grim expression, Geralt?” Jaskier said, a thread of anxiety waving its way around his heart. “Is… what is your little experiment?”

Terrible images of mage experiments they’d told stories of at Oxenfurt flashed before his eyes, tales of girls trapped in towers and dissected by sorcerers, children with magic hauled off to a fortress by the sea —

“Hey,” Geralt said, grabbing Jaskier’s hands and squeezing gently. “Stay with me here, Jas, it’s nothing bad. I would not ask you to do something that would hurt you. Ever.”

The tight clench in his chest unfurled under Geralt’s gaze. 

“I know,” he said, running his thumb over the back of Geralt’s hand lightly. “I know you wouldn’t. I’m sorry. You just looked so serious for a minute, and I just… well, nevermind. It hardly matters now.”

Geralt sighed. “I think something about it is tied to your emotions,” he explained. “You’re untrained, so you don’t have deliberate control, so it has to be something more instinctive. You’re an emotionally-driven person, so it would make sense.”

Jaskier nodded slowly. “That makes sense, actually, so why do you look like you’ve just bitten into a Cintran lemon?”

Geralt grimaced, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You’re going to hate this suggestion,” he said, “But I think we need to call Yennefer.”

Jaskier stepped back, yanking his hands out of Geralt’s as though he had been burned. “Absolutely  _ not _ .”

“Come on, Jaskier—”

“The last thing I need when we don’t know what’s going on is a crazed witch who hates me poking around in my brain! Everytime she sees me, I think she’s going to turn me into a toad. If she finds out that I have magic or, Melitele forbid, that now I’m sleeping with  _ you _ , she will obliterate me. She was bad enough when she was just  _ angry _ , I certainly don’t need to make her  _ jealous _ .” Jaskier shuddered, only partly for show. 

It was no secret that Yennefer and Geralt had a… rather tumultuous relationship. After the whole business in Rinde with the djinn, the witch seemed to dog their footsteps as they traversed across the Continent, appearing in the most unlikely places in a whirl of black skirts and perfect hair. He had never quite understood the hold she seemed to have over Geralt; she was beautiful, yes, but Geralt had never seemed to look twice at any of the women eyeing him in town. But with  _ her, _ every time she showed up, he was pulled back into her orbit, looking at her like she had hung the moon.

And every time, when she was gone without a trace the next morning, he was always a little brokenhearted, and Jaskier was left with the pieces of his best friend’s heart in his hands, trying his best to darn them back together before he even noticed the cracks. 

They were not good for each other, and they both knew it, but they couldn’t seem to stay apart for longer than a few months before coming together in a clash that left both of them bruised and bleeding. All because of a cruel, vindictive djinn and a desperate, ill-fated wish. 

It had ended the last time they’d seen Yennefer. She’d stepped out of a portal straight into their campsite, grabbing Geralt’s arm and hauling him to his feet. He’d offered no more than a token protest before standing and letting her pull him through, Jaskier right on their heels. They had arrived in a lavish, beautiful room, no doubt some lord’s castle that Yennefer had currently taken up residence in. 

On a table in the middle of the room was a small bottle with an eerily familiar seal. Another djinn. Jaskier’s throat had suddenly, fiercely ached, nearly choking him with a wave of phantom pain he barely remembered. 

Yennefer had broken the bond that the first djinn had created between her and Geralt. When the dust settled and the djinn had vanished, Geralt and Yennefer were left staring at each other without Fate clouding their vision. 

It had been quiet for a long, long moment. Jaskier had gotten the sense that they were having a conversation he could not hear. 

Finally, Geralt had given a soft, rare smile. “Take care, Yennefer,” he said, his voice quiet and a little fond. “I’ll see you around.”

“Not if I see you first,” she had replied, smoothing her skirt and stepping closer to him. She placed one graceful hand on his face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. She seemed… lighter, somehow. Happier. “Be careful, Geralt. Stay out of trouble.”

Without another word, she had snapped her fingers and sent them back to their campsite where Roach was waiting for them.

So  _ yes, _ Jaskier knew that there was no djinn-induced bond between them anymore, knew it had been gone for a while, but he had never quite been able to shake the vision of her last, soft smile or how gentle her hand had been on his face. How easy it had been for Geralt to let her touch him with a kindness he rarely accepted. He and Yennefer seemed to be at each other’s throats as a default; he doubted that revealing he was madly in love with her ex-lover would somehow  _ endear _ him to her. And if Jaskier had learned anything in his years adventuring with Geralt, it was that an angry sorceress was  _ not _ to be fucked with. 

“She hates me,” Jaskier said, gesturing with his hands, “And she loves you, and that is  _ not _ a combination that lends itself well to our current circumstances, Geralt!”

Geralt caught one of his hands and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his palm. “She doesn’t hate you,” he said. “I think she likes having someone to bicker with. And she and I are long over. It was complicated to begin with, but it’s nothing now. She’s not going to be angry that I’m in love with you.”

Jaskier huffed, allowing himself to be drawn into a hug. “She might,” he said, his voice muffled by Geralt’s chest. “I don’t want an angry witch poking around in my brain and turning me into a… a  _ crow _ or something.” 

“I won’t let her turn you into a crow,” Geralt promised. “Or a toad or a bug or whatever else you’re worried about. I’m out of my depth, Jaskier. I can keep trying, but the best way to actually get answers about your magic is to talk to someone who knows magic.”

“Can we just wait another week?” he asked. “You said you had an idea. Let’s try that, and if that doesn’t go anywhere, then… then I  _ suppose _ you can write to Yennefer.”

Geralt was quiet for a moment. “Jas?”

“Yes?”

“I think my idea was right,” Geralt said. “It’s something about your feelings.”

“Why?”

Geralt stepped back, gesturing towards the ceiling. “You’re making it snow.”

“ _ What?” _

Jaskier immediately looked up, baffled. Sure enough, a small gray cloud floated lazily around the ceiling, snow gently falling down and landing on them. It seemed to dissipate before it hit the ground, vanishing with a shimmer. He stuck out his tongue experimentally, catching a flake on his tongue. It melted like a real snowflake, but apparently he had  _ conjured it _ with the force of his complicated emotions about  _ Yennefer of fucking Vengerberg. _

“Well,” Jaskier said. For once in his life, he was truly at a loss for words. “ _ That’s _ new.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fuckin poem in this took up half the writing time of this and i don't even like it lmao. anyway. toss a kiss to your witcher and i'll see you next time!!


End file.
